Before I was diagnosed with depression I felt lost, unaware of why I felt so different than everyone around me. Receiving a diagnosis gave me some relief in knowing there was a word attached to my feelings and behaviors, but opened a door to darker demons.

I have carried a tremendous amount of guilt in regards to my diagnosis. I suffered no childhood trauma, had a loving family, plenty of friends, and cute lil pets. There were people in the world who were far less fortunate than I was but they were able to do the things that I felt near impossible. I had not EARNED my depression (what an incredibly ass backwards world it would be if you had to show you deserved to have depression), how dare I be so ungrateful for the blessed life I was given?

When I began to self harm it was not because I felt numb, it was because I really believed I deserved to feel pain. I needed to be punished for who I was, but mostly for who I wasn’t. My self harm eventually led to a suicide attempt because I felt like such a burden to those around me who kept asking “WHY?”

Often when I share my story with those around me, including mental health professionals, I hear “I would have never guessed that from your appearance. You certainly don’t look depressed.” Lemme tell ya, we should all thank our lucky stars that my appearance does not reflect how I feel on the inside because if so I would probably be arrested and burned at the stake. Regardless, it’s invalidating and makes me feel like I have to further justify my depression.

Today, I feel guilty. It is so heartbreaking to watch my family scramble for answers they will never get. I feel guilty for being on disability for so long, for changing my meds again, for being me.